Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Bastien's chest tightened as understanding crystallized. "The Collectors aren't here to stop her."
"They're here to forge her," Maestro confirmed, his smile sharp as broken glass. "Nothing creates transcendence like the absolute certainty of annihilation. She'll evolve or die—and either outcome serves the greater composition."
The first Collector stepped through.
It wore the shape of a man but moved like flowing shadow, its face a void that swallowed light. Where its feet touched the opera house floor, reality withered. Furniture aged decades in seconds. The hardwood floors cracked and split, becoming dust and memory.
“Move!” Bastien shoved Roxy ahead of him as they reached the street. Behind them, the opera house was collapsing into itself, consumed by forces that existed outside normal space and time.
The alliance regrouped three blocks away, gasping and shaken. Vincent's pale face was even whiter than usual. Roxy’s pack gathered around her, seeking her leadership and comfort. Maman clutched her ritual bag like a lifeline.
“What the hell was that?” Vincent demanded.
“Entities from between realities,” Maman replied, her voice grim. “Things that exist in the spaces where physics don't apply. Maestro didn't summon them—he just gave them an opening.”
Bastien stared back at the Garden District, where the opera house had been. In its place, a swirling vortex of darkness reached toward the dawn sky. Around it, ordinary reality flickered like a candle in wind.
“This isn't about supernatural politics anymore,” he said. “This is about preventing reality collapse.”
Roxy stepped forward, her authority clear despite their retreat. “So what's our next move?”
Bastien felt the weight of leadership, of decisions that would affect not just the supernatural community but reality itself. The Collectors weren't interested in New Orleans politics or vampire-wolf territorial disputes. They were here for something specific.
For Delphine.
“We protect the key,” he said. “Whatever Maestro's planning, Delphine is at the center of it. The Collectors won't manifest physically for long—maintaining presence in our reality requires enormous energy. But they'll keep trying until they get what they came for.”
“And if we can't stop them?” Vincent asked.
Bastien looked at the expanding breach, at the shadows moving within it, at the forces that had turned a simple supernatural conflict into something far more dangerous.
“Then reality itself becomes collateral damage.”
The alliance stood in the dawn light, no longer fighting for territory or political advantage. They were fighting for existence itself—theirs, humanity's, and the fundamental structure of reality.
The real battle was just beginning.
By seven a.m., they'd established a command post in an abandoned warehouse near the French Quarter. Maman's practitioners worked frantically to establish protective wards while Vincent's coven secured the perimeter. Roxy’s pack maintained patrol routes that would give early warning if the Collectors expanded their area of influence.
Bastien stood before a tactical map of New Orleans, marking locations where reality had become unstable. The breach point at the opera house was the largest, but smaller rifts were appearing throughout the city—hairline cracks in the Veil that allowed entities to observe without fully manifesting.
“Status report,” he called.
Vincent materialized beside the map with inhuman speed. “Eight confirmed sightings of shadow figures near the breach zone. They're not attacking civilians, just . . . watching. Searching for something.”
“Pack reports similar activity in the Garden District and uptown,” Roxy added. “Whatever they're looking for, they haven't found it yet.”
Maman approached with a crystal pendulum that swung in patterns defying gravity. “The breach is stabilizing but not closing. Maestro's ritual created a permanent doorway. As long as it remains open, more entities can cross over.”
Bastien processed the intelligence with growing dread. A permanent breach meant the Collectors had unlimited access to their reality. They could search methodically, systematically, until they located their target.
“How long before they find Delphine?”
“Unknown,” Maman replied. “But they're entities from outside our understanding of time. They don't experience minutes and hours the way we do. They can afford to be patient.”
“We can't.” Bastien turned to address the alliance. “New plan. We're not trying to close the breach—we're going to evacuate the target.”
“Evacuate where?” Roxy asked. “If these things exist between realities, hiding in another city won't help.”
“Not another city. Another plane of existence.” Bastien met their shocked stares with grim determination. “The fae courts have dimensional sovereignty. If we can get Delphine to the Winter Court, even these entities will have trouble reaching her.”
Vincent shook his head. “The courts don't grant asylum without significant payment. What could we possibly offer that would interest them?”
Bastien considered their options. The fae operated on bargains and exchanges, but their currency wasn't gold or territory. They valued stories, emotions, and possibilities—things that couldn't be easily quantified.
“Information,” he said finally. “About why entities from outside reality want Delphine badly enough to breach dimensional barriers. The courts have survived since before human civilization by staying informed about threats from beyond.”
“And if they refuse?” Roxy pressed.
“Then we make a stand here. But first, I need to explain to Delphine why entities from outside space and time are hunting her without sending her into psychological collapse.”